Creases & Coffee
by MarrowInTheBone
Summary: Humans grow old. Chase cannot help but notice. (Takes place before Season 4 finale.)


Charlie worked hard. While he had never been one to boast about himself, he felt he at least could recognize this, especially with how his daily tasks reminded him of it. He was old, for one thing, and had to put more effort in what he did compared to his younger kids––the same four children he had supported and raised by himself for around ten years. Then, on top of all that, he was one of the only cops on the accident-prone, villain-attracting island he called home and the leader of its rescue team. While he never really thought too much of it, he figured all of his responsibilities had probably made his hair gray faster.

It wasn't just him who was aware of the onus he bore, however; his family and all the island inhabitants had mentioned it or at least knew about it. In fact, it was mainly other people's concerns that got him to seriously consider (and nearly carry out) retirement. Of course, he would be lying if he said it wouldn't be a delight to be able to go fishing whenever he pleased; but he just couldn't find it in him to quit the rescue work either.

Even if it meant having to do the usual drudgery.

"Hello there, Mr. Pettypaws," he jokingly said, grabbing said cat from his perch atop his favorite tree branch. He shifted the cat into one arm before climbing down the ladder he had managed to persuade the cat's owner into getting (given the frequency of these particular emergencies). Once he was reunited with solid ground, he came up to Pettypaw's owner, presenting the cat to her. "Here you go, Mrs. Neederlander." She gingerly picked up her companion, cooing at him (and giving Charlie a snappy "thanks") as she went back into her house to do whatever the enigmatical lady did in her spare time (aside from placing bets, apparently).

He ran a hand through his silver hair as he walked up to his loyal partner, Chase, who was still in his alt mode. (Charlie had insisted on doing the task himself; he needed to work his joints, you know?)

He clambered inside the police car, asking, "Any alerts happen while I was getting Pettypaws?" (One could never know with Griffin Rock.)

"Negative, Chief," Chase addressed him. As soon as Charlie put on his seatbelt, Chase inquired, "Shall we continue our patrol?"

Charlie replied by giving an affirming hum and wrapping his hands around the wheel.

The two were silent as they patrolled the roads, but, unlike the majority of their rides, there was a faint tenseness that Charlie could sense. He also noticed that Chase was braking more suddenly and was rounding corners faster than usual.

"Something on your mind, partner? You seem kinda nervous," Charlie finally asked at a red stoplight.

As the stoplight turned green and they continued, Chase began, "Apologies, Chief Burns. It is just that, recently, Cody insisted on our watching of this movie called Up. And, while I did enjoy its plot and found most of the characters likable, it caused me to... think." The word "think" carried a barely noticeable but still different tone.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "About what?" he asked.

They went around a corner as Chase continued, "It has become very apparent during our stay here that Cybertronians have many differences when compared to humans."

Charlie smiled a tad. "And yet we're also very similar," he pointed out.

"Indeed," Chase agreed. "However, there is one physical difference between us that has become more and more obvious to me––not just because of the movie, but also because of you and Cody, sir."

Charlie's brows raised slightly in surprise. "What is it?" he asked.

"Cody has changed––grown, as you call it. And you, sir, are apparently of old age."

"...That's right," Charlie confirmed, wondering why Chase was dragging this out so long. It wasn't like him.

"It is just..." Chase paused. "...we Autobots do not age. Or, at least, not as quickly as humans do. We can live through millions and millions of years, but you humans are lucky to reach a hundred."

Oh.

Charlie's eyes flicked toward the screen where Chase would normally appear when he was talking with Charlie; however, he wasn't there. "Chase––"

"In fact, after doing some research, I have found out that the average life expectancy in the United States is 78.74 years," Chase quickly said, not taking a break. "However, considering your line of duty and the exceedingly large amount of danger you face on a near daily basis, along with your limited mobility due to your age, that life expectancy would most likely drop."

"Chase, slow––"

"It is also worth noting that you have already been in situations where I was unable to help you and you suffered injuries as a result of them. There also still remains the possibility of it happening again, meaning that there is also the possibility that you could––"

"Chase!" Charlie forcefully said.

Chase stopped his rambling at once at the command. The two remained silent for a moment at the side of the street, where Chase had parked during his outpour.

"My apologies, Chief Burns," Chase began, sounding smaller than he was. "I suppose I got carried away."

"No, Chase, don't apologize. You're worried––there's no reason to feel bad about that," Charlie slightly admonished before placing a reassuring hand on Chase's dashboard. "But I assure you I still have many years before me."

"Yes, but... What about after?" Chase asked, his voice uncharacteristically quieter. "I will still be here, but I will not have you to follow." Charlie could feel his seat belt tighten slightly around him. "I have come to hold you in high regard, sir, and I do not know what I would do without you."

Charlie took his hand from the dashboard and placed it instead on the seat belt. "I... get what you mean, Chase," Charlie began, an old familiar face appearing in his mind. "I've been in that same situation before. Didn't think I would be around the time, but life is unpredictable in that way." His digits curled slightly around the seat belt as he continued: "As for 'what after'... Just remember that it gets better––maybe not in a week, or two weeks, or even more––but it does. You can't allow yourself to become dead just because someone else is." He added, more softly, "It wouldn't be how they would want you to continue on without them."

Silence filled the air between the two, until Chase, finally appearing on the dash screen, spoke up, "You are right, sir." A small smile––but a smile nonetheless––appeared on Chase's face. "As per usual."

Charlie faintly smiled as well––just in time for his comm to interrupt the moment. He pressed the button on it, allowing its audio to be heard. "Hey, Dad," his son Graham began on the other side, "we have a traffic light outage two blocks to the right of you. We could use some help redirecting traffic."

"Alright, son," Charlie said before taking his finger off the comm's button. "So," Charlie began, this time directed to Chase, "ready to be a traffic cop?"

Relief and happiness filled Charlie as Chase's engine revved softly as he drove back onto the road.

"With pleasure, sir."


End file.
